Out of the Shadows
by x-posed-again
Summary: Marcus spends his life haunted by his father's death, what happens when he decides to face his ghosts? [MFxOW]
1. Chapter 1: A Man Apart

**Intro:**

Marcus waits. The cold night fog pools thick at his feet in blanking swirls of white and gray as he lingers deep in the heart of the forbidden forest. He pulls at the edges of the dark cloak closing the hood around his face casting dark shadows on his skin concealing the man within. The cold air whips around whistling a slow eerie lullaby through the trees. The conditions were enough to drive most men away and yet he waits, hoping to finally rid himself of years of emotional and self inflected guilt. Marcus is a person who bears many scars. Most are emotional, on the inside safe from site where only he knows where they hide buried deep behind loyalty and remorse. Those are the ones that torment him, the ones that wake him up in a cold sweet in the middle of the night. Sometimes he thinks staying awake would be better, but he never manages past a few days before collapsing in exhaustion. He always curses himself for not being stronger when he wakes and vows to give it another try. Yet there are some, a rare few that mark his skin… blurring the line between past and present. And this is why he waits. The burning pain on his left arm brings his past screaming into the future. It ties him to a history he didn't even know he had. The wind howled loudly behind him and if he listened hard enough Marcus swore it was whispering his name. He had half a mind to turn around and tell it to kindly fuck off, but the sound of sticks cracking under heavy footstep rang in his ears and he quickly turned on his heels to face the sound. He saw no one, but he knew that didn't mean anything. As best he could figure, he was being watched. It was a game of cat and mouse to see who was more powerful, who would budge first. Marcus smiled inwardly. Let the games begin.

**Chapter 1: A Man Apart**

Thunder cracked loud in the night sky over Marcus' one bedroom flat. Cold raindrops fell playing a staccato symphony on the cobblestones below. And yet there he stood, both hands clenching the black rod iron railing of the third story balcony while a steady stream of water dripped down off his dark hair and down his face. His head hung in exhaustion as water drops collected at the tip of his nose forming one big drop before it fell. His whole body ached and screamed for sleep, exhausted from four days of not sleeping. Marcus' eyelids hung heavy, but he would not give in. Not tonight. His hand shook as he raised his palm to his forehead pushing it hard against the cold skin as he tried to fight off the oncoming headache.

Marcus had been dreading this night for months. October 13, it was a date he would never… could never forget. The mere mention of it sent him into insomniatic fits binging and purging on states of awake and sleep. When he slept he was haunted by voices and faces of the past causing him to wake in a pool of cold sweat with his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest as he coughed and sputtered for breath. Staying awake was not any easier to handle. After going so long without rest your mind and body start playing tricks on you. There are enemies at every turn and shadows lurking behind every corner. Judging by his given state Marcus was definitely fighting his inner demons at the moment. Tears mixed with rain as he hoped the chill in the air would somehow numb him from the inside out and take away all emotion from his body. He would have readily given up ever feeling anything again if it would mean he could keep his sanity.

October 13…if he thinks about it hard enough Marcus can still hear his dad's voice, see his face. He cursed loudly at the memory slamming his fist down on top of the railing. He immediately regretted the decision once the pain struck. As if he didn't have enough pain to deal with at the moment. Marcus pushed himself away from the railing and walked into the kitchen, leaving the doors to the balcony wide open. Rain streamed in soaking the carpet as he reached for his bottle of Firewisky. If the cold couldn't numb him, this sure would. He raised a shaky hand to the bottle, tipping the lip of it to his mouth. The liquid burned a trail down to his stomach. One drink led to another and then another until half the bottle had disappeared. Marcus slumped hard against the kitchen counter as his memories did battle in his head.

He was only 8 when his dad died, but he could recount every detail of that night in perfect explanation as if describing a photograph he was starring at. The cold feel of the house, the creaking of the floor as his mother walked to his room all echoed perfectly in his mind. He can see the door to his childhood room opening in an almost slow motion as his mother appeared on the other side, the glow from the hallway warming her tan skin. She walked in closing the door behind her and motioned for him to sit down next to her on his bed. He remembers how warm she felt as he cuddled in next to her, looking up into her big brown eyes. It was her vacant stare he recalls most, the way there was no emotion, no expression behind her eyes as she told her only child of the death of his father. Marcus was young then and thought she was just hiding her fear and heartbreak; it was only as an adult that he realized it was the look of someone simply delivering a message.

"Cold unemotional bitch!" he breathed out in a hiss. "Stupid money grubbing cunt!" This time the words were whispered into the Firewisky bottle as he drank.

Marcus' relationship with his mother was never the same after that night. For him, the event was traumatic and something he would spend the rest of his life trying to get over. For his mom it was just an event she had to play "poor widow" at, wearing her all black robes and whore red lipstick. She only waited two months before she remarried. She told her son it was for him, to provide him with a solid father figure. Marcus knew this was untrue from the second he met him. The man despised kids and hated quidditch, a love his dad and instilled in him. So Marcus was pushed aside with all the forgotten toys of a discarded youth.

Another gulp of Firewisky hit his lips and he winced as it burned the soft pink flesh. "Still can feel, haven't drank enough yet" he thought to himself. Only one way to remedy that problem, he tiled the bottle way up in the air and prepaid to empty the entire contents into his mouth as he caught a glimpse of something through the thick yellow tinted glass.

"Oliver?" he called out as he lowered the bottle. He wasn't due home until much later tonight and Marcus shook his head trying to clear his thoughts.

"Get a hold of yourself Flint," he told himself as he drank. Then he heard it, a creaking sound in the corner. Marcus turned and threw the bottle at the noise. He breathed heavy and his heart raced as he walked over to the corner of the living room. Shards of glass lay on the hardwood floor while the tick amber liquid ran down the walls, staining the photos that hung there. Marcus hovered over the mess staring at the broken photo frames before abruptly turning on his heals and walking away.

This was a fight he would never win. He was 23 years old and slowly going crazy. He had spent his life haunted by a death that happened 15 years ago and it had reduced him to this, a man whose mind plays tricks on him, a man who fears sleep, a man he doesn't even recognize any more.

He couldn't stay here, not a minute longer. He couldn't face what he had become so he did the only thing he could think of... run. He wouldn't be gone long, he never was. It was like he was on some invisible tether that kept drawing him back in, but tonight he was going to see how far he could stretch it.


	2. Chapter 2: My Prison

**Chapter 2: My Prison**

The purples and blues mixed together swirling around in a sea of bruises on his sun tanned skin. Wet hair matted to his forehead as a constant throbbing pain bounced around in his skull. His head and heart pounded in unison allowing no relief from the ache. With his body and ego bruised he pushed himself to continue moving, each stair more painful than the previous.

"Ugh," Oliver groaned as his blue and gray Puddlemere bag slid off his right shoulder and fell to the ground with a loud thud. His right hand quickly shot up to his left shoulder and rubbed at the sore muscles. He leaned his head in, resting it on his hand. Oliver eyed the hallway wishing the door was closer. He slowly made his way over to the door of his and Marcus' flat, kicking his bag along with his feet the whole time.

"Stupid," grunt "bloody", grunt "bag!" Each word emphasized with a swift kick. It only contained laundry after all, nothing of extreme value.

He opened door and with one final blow sent the bag flying into the air before it found a landing spot on the carpeted floor of the living room. The white French doors leading to the balcony rattled in the wind as rain steadily streamed into the living room, soaking the floor.

"What the fuck?" he cursed as he stepped over his now discarded bag on his way to the doors. The carpet squished under his feet as Oliver struggled against the wind trying to push the doors shut. He placed both hands on the slippery wood frame and gave the doors a push, slamming them with a loud thud. He cringed at the sound, fearful the noise had woken Marcus. Oliver spun and placed his back against the cold of the door and listened. No noise, maybe he had not woken him after all. The cold rain on the door seeped into his light tee-shirt numbing the pain in his back slightly. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he sunk more weight against the doors, surveying the sight before him.

The room was in shambles. The wind whipping through the apartment had left photos and papers strewn all over the living room. Oliver's quidditch play book now lay open, the black ink streaked down the page and pooled in the crease.

"You have **got **to be kidding me!?" Oliver cried out. He pushed himself away from the doors and made his way over to the table when he noticed something over in the far corner that stopped him cold in his tracks. He didn't turn his head to look at first instead shifting his eyes as far over as they could get. He stood, riveted to his spot, afraid of what he might find once he gave it a good look.

"You're not here are you?" It was more of a statement than a question and Oliver knew very well that no one was going to answer.

"Fuck," he breathed out and threw his hands up in the air. They came to rest on top of his head, elbows jutting out to the sides, pain searing through his left side as he did so. He turned his back to the mess in the corner and shut his eyes tight hoping to block out what he just saw, secretly hoping that Marcus' voice would magically radiate from the bedroom and the scenario that was now stirring up in his head would all be proved untrue.

Unfortunately for Oliver the only thing he heard was silence, heart crushing silence. He should have expected it. Over the years Marcus had changed. He had become darker, more consumed… by what Oliver didn't know. The "I love you's" became few and far between. The distance started to increase and the only time Oliver heard those three words spilled from his lover's lips was when he was on the verge of leaving. It was always then, right then when Oliver was about to walk out the door that Marcus would use the words that cut him the deepest. They would stand there just looking at one another, Oliver's hand on the doorknob, both contemplating the next move. In that moment Marcus' eyes would shimmer bright in the dark and Oliver swore if he leaned in close enough that he could drown in them. And in a sense he was drowning, he just didn't if he wanted to be saved or not. Oliver was bound, constantly on the verge of good-bye. He couldn't go and it hurt him to stay. It hurt him to see Marcus this way… dark, avoiding, detached. He wanted to reach out and shake him. Tell him to snap out of it and whatever was going on with him they could work out together. Yet the other part of him hurt. Merlin he hurt so badly. His heart ached from the fights and the words that had been said between them. Sometimes it was the things that weren't said on nights like theses that hurt more.

Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose again, cursing out in pain as he did so.

"Don't worry, I'm fine!" Oliver yelled out into the silence. "I'm just fucking fine!"

He kept yelling as he walked over to where the mess lay in the corner.

"It was just a bludger to the back, nothing serious." His voice became more and more enraged. "Don't worry the broomstick caught my face so I didn't fall. Want to see the cuts and bruises on my nose and above my eye to prove it?"

Oliver eyed the amber liquid stuck to the walls. He ran his finger through it and then brought it to his nose, definitely alcohol.

"It's O.K., I'll clean all this shit up! That's not a problem. Not like I am in pain or anything here."

Glass and photos lay scattered along the floor. He bent over and picked up a black and white picture. The edges now turned up from the liquid and the ink was starting to run, but he could still make out the two figures. Two young boys right out of Hogwarts still in their respective quidditch robes playfully shoving each other. Oliver idly ran his fingers over the picture. The tears were quick to follow and he brushed them away with the back of his hand. He was not weak. Marcus had not reduced him to this. His right hand started to shake and he quickly dropped the picture. His hand covered his eyes and he tried his best not to let his emotions get the better of him. He should be used to this by now…. should anyone really be used to this?

The ruined photos of their past laying on the floor echoed perfectly with what Oliver was feeling. He didn't know why Marcus had done this, it really didn't matter. He would clean it up, just like their relationship…. Marcus would fuck everything up and Oliver was left to pick up the pieces hoping they didn't cut him as he did so.

"Ya," this time the words were whispered as a single tear ran down his face. "I'm alright."


	3. Chapter 3: Ghosts in my Mind

**Chapter 3: Ghosts in my Mind**

Alcohol…fixed….everything, or at the very least made everything seem hazier. Things couldn't hurt as bad if you couldn't focus on them, or so was Marcus' reasoning. So he let himself drown in the smog that was occupying his brain. Voices echoed around the bar, but he didn't care, he was more concerned with the demons in his head. His head lulled to the side as he idly slid his finger around the rim of his glass over and over again. The thick fog of stagnate cigarette smoke hung in the air causing his eyes to burn, he rubbed the back of his right hand against them causing his vision to blur even more. Everything ran together like a painting left out in the rain, Marcus thought it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Eyes bleary, he looked down at his drink. Marcus didn't know why he was here; he hadn't even touched the drink he had fought to get. Stupid wanker tellin' me I've had enough. Half of him wanted to run as far away as he could from here, half of him to run to Oliver and half of him just wanted to give up and find a corner to hide in, damn mathematics never working in his favor. Deciding on a plan of action was too much to conceive right know, hell just breathing seamed like a lot to ask of him at this moment. Every movement he made felt labored and unnatural.

It was his own damn fault, shutting himself out from the rest of the world, but emotions were complicated and messy and Marcus never really knew how to handle them anyways, always feeling awkward in his own skin…except when it came to Oliver. Oliver. Merlin, no one should make him feel like that , hot, flustered and needy. It was like he couldn't control himself around the other man. He was normally so calm and collected, but with Oliver he wanted to throw all of that control out the window… not that he always did mind you. It was a dangerous game of trying to keep his emotions in check and letting them fly wild. The older Marcus got the better he became at holding back. But God, what that man did to him. _Oliver, why aren't you here?_

_No!_

Marcus didn't need him here.

Didn't need to drag him into this.

This was his problem. The thought of Oliver being involved, of taking on Marcus' baggage turned his stomach. Ugh. He pushed his face into his hands, breathing heavy through the spaces of air between his fingers. His hands slid up his face and through his hair before staring at his drink again. He looked at it for a moment before reaching out and grabbing it. His hand stayed on the glass for a minute as if debating his next move. Slowly, Marcus slid his drink across the table, fingertips never leaving the glass. He sat there, arm outstretched, eyeing the glass. Oh fuck it. He snatched the glass back and lifted it to his lips. What was one more drink when you were already completely blotto? The noise from the room mixed with the cool bite of the drink and Marcus was lost in it all. Eyes closed, he shut everything out… the bar, the smell, the noise. It was all gone. He was oblivious to everything, including the pair of dark eyes that had been watching him all night.

Soon after finishing his drink Marcus could feel a tight pull in his chest creeping up on him, damn that tether. He tossed a few gallons on the table and grabbed his jacket. The bar was crowded so he didn't noticed when someone else got up from their table and followed him on his way to the door. The closer he got to the exit the louder the music became. The sea of people moved with the beat and Marcus swayed with them as he made his way out. Bodies moving and touching, hands grabbing, people pressed upon people. He pushed the door open and was greeted with a blast of cold air to the face. The sudden change in air made him cough and gasp as his lungs fought for air. The silence out on the street was almost defining as his ears began to ring from the loud club music he just waded through. He shook his head, trying to clear the noise, as he made his way down the street. He just needed to find the nearest alley to apperate home in. He needed to get home before… _what the fuck? _A loud crashing sound caused Marcus to quickly spin around. His eyes shifted around the alley finding nothing concrete to lock on. He heard it, he swore he heard it. A gust of wind swept down the street causing the trashcans to rattle. Marcus forced his eyes shut. _Youarefineyouarefineyouarefine_. He turned on his heals and started to walk again. Almost there, almost back home, he could make it. It was then when another sound caught his attention, one that made him freeze in his tracks… footsteps.

He couldn't move, it was as if his feet were cemented to the sidewalk. _It's nothing; it's just someone else walking down the street._ Marcus scanned the road in front of him… still no one around. The footsteps were becoming louder, echoing off of the buildings. Fuck! Rived to his stop all he could do was close his eyes and listen. The pounding in his ears and his heavy breathing made it almost impossible to hear anything else…almost. Louder now, the pace was picking up. He felt like his legs would give out on him at any moment. Ever so slowly his left hand reached into his jacket pocket feeling around until his fingers hit the cool hard wood of his wand. They were right behind him now, ever so close. He could hear feet scuffing against the cobblestone of the road, sending little rocks scattering around. Marcus' heart was racing; the world was a blur… so much and so little all at once sending him over the edge. The pounding in his head growing incessantly louder, the sounds of his own breathing heavy and hard, those damn footsteps achingly close, closer now, so close. His hand on his wand was shaking so hard it made his whole body tremble. Everything, sight, sound fear… so close it was _right _behind him all accumulating to…. nothing. It was as if the world had stopped. Eerie silence now flooded his ears. Marcus gulped audibly, his throat felt like sandpaper. _Open your eyes damnit!_ He couldn't. All he could do was stand there like an idiot in the middle of the street, hand on his wand, screwing his eyes shut.

Then he felt it, a gust of air on his neck. Even though it was warm it still send a chill down his spine. That's because, Marcus realized, this wasn't just air, it was breath… someone was breathing on him. Another warm puff ghosted across his sink, this time Marcus could hear the labored breathing that accompanied it. The grip on his wand tightened. He could feel the hair on the back of his head move with every breath directed at him. Warmth spread across his back as he felt whoever it was leaning up against him. With every ounce of strength he had Marcus pulled his wand from is coat and spun around. He stood there, wand outstretch pointing into thin air. There….was… no one. Marcus' wand fell to the ground, yet his hand remained reaching out into the night air. His fingers moved slowly as he begged out loud for them to touch something… anything. "Come on…. come on…. dammit!" He pulled his hand back before tentatively reaching out again. That was it, he was officially going crazy. Marcus reached down and scooped up his wand before taking off in a run. He was haunted when he slept and haunted when he was awake. It was like living in hell, his own permanent hell. He turned the next corner he could find and with a loud crack Marcus was gone.

It was only a matter of seconds before his feet were finding their way up the staircase to his apartment. Taking steps two at a time he was trying to outrun his fears. When he finally reached the door his hand grabbed the doorknob, but he didn't turn it. He leaned his forehead against the door and caught his breath. He could already feel his emotions shutting back down; his body was building his wall back up. The dam would break again, just like it did tonight, but at least for now he could keep it all in. With a deep breath he turned the handle and walked in. In contrast to the bright lights of the hallway the apartment was dark with only a soft glow from the streetlights gleaming in from the road bellow. A drunken fog had now set in Marcus' head and he cursed out loud as he nearly tripped over Oliver's discarded Puddlemear bag. _What the fuck was it doing there anyway? _A thin bream of light was streaming out from the slightly cracked open bedroom door. Not wanting to sleep, but needing an escape Marcus made a beeline for the door. He expected to be greeted with the sounds of a sleeping Oliver, but instead heard soft muttering and grunting coming from the room. Worried that whatever he had encountered tonight had beaten him home he peered into the room through the slightly ajar door. He almost gasped aloud at what he saw.

There was Oliver, pants and boxers shoved down and bunched around his knees. His bare ass was pushed against the end of the wooden bed as he struggled to push more of his own weight against the frame as his hand pumped up and down his cock. Marcus squinted and leaned in closer, bracing himself of the door frame. His eyes were focusing on a bead of sweat that had formed on Oliver's neck and was slowly making its way down his back, disappearing between the cheeks of his ass. Oh bloody hell. Suddenly Marcus felt drunk with lust rather than alcohol. He could see Oliver's muscles twist and flex with every movement, Merlin just watching him move was making him hard.

Oliver's hand was slowly pumping away on his dick. He would roll his thumb over the head, sliding it around in the precum before tossing his head back and gasping. Marcus almost hated him in that moment. There he was losing his mind and Oliver was at home jacking off enjoying the shear fucking bliss of the entire damn thing. It made him jealous sick. His attention was quickly drawn back to the half-naked man in his bed room when he heard a loud drawn out noise. Marcus shifted his eyes up just in time to see Oliver spit in his hand. The other man quickly returned his now slick fingers to his hard prick and started stroking again. Fucker. Moaning loudly he began to stroke faster. It was like Marcus could feel his anger rise with Oliver's ecstasy. His own cock, now achingly hard, was pushing against the hard denim of his jeans and his body was begging for release. Marcus placed the palm of his hand against the bedroom door and slowly pushed, watching the shadows of the hallway lay across Oliver's back. He felt as though he was the one now staking his pray. His own footsteps echoed in his ears as the man in front of him was lost in the feeling of an approaching orgasm. The closer Marcus got the more Oliver's sputtering sounded like actual words. _Stupid fucker…I hate you sometimes…. I hate you._

Oliver was painfully close. So close now. All of his anger and frustration was about to spill out of him. He picked up the pace, stroking as hard as he could. Fuck finesse. This was no time for finesse. He began to fell that familiar pull in his stomach as he fought for more air. It felt like he was drowning in a dense fog as the corners of the world started to melt on him. He was so oblivious to the world he didn't even notice the other man creeping up on him, that is, until he felt warm breath on his neck. Oliver froze. He knew that smell. Liquor mixed with heat and pain.

"Marcus?"

His question was answered by a grunt and a pair of wondering hands. Marcus traced down Oliver's arms with the pads of his finger tips. Sighing loudly, Oliver leaned back against the warmth the other man provided. He only had a second to enjoy the feeling before his arms were grabbed and wretched around his back and held there at the wrists.

"Baby what are you do-" Oliver suddenly found it hard to talk as Marcus's mouth latched onto his neck. As he licked down his boyfriend's neck Marcus let go of Oliver's wrists with his left hand, holding both with just his right, as he fiddled with the button and zipper on his pants. Once open, he hastily pushed them down allowing his cock to bob freely as he did so. He hissed into Oliver's ear as the head of his dick mad contact with the warm skin of his lover. He replaced his death hold on the other man's arm and began to slowly push his cock up and down Oliver's ass checks making the other man gasp as he did so. This was what Marcus wanted, what he needed… control… control over something, someone, anything. He felt so out of control these days, so much a part of something bigger than himself.

"Touch me," Oliver broke the silence. "Please Marcus… touch me."

His plea was only answered by his wrists being squeezed tighter together.

Need this. Need you right now.

Marcus behind to thrust harder, watching his dick slide up and down Oliver's crack. Need this. He was putting everything he had into this moment, not knowing when he would have another moment of clarity like this.

He loved Oliver, he loved him so _damn _much it hurt. Merlin the shear nearness of the other man was enough to make Marcus throw all rational thought out the window, but he also loved him enough to keep him at a distance. Oliver didn't need to be pulled into Marcus' obsession, didn't need to know about his insomnia and the demons running around in his head. If he really loved him, Marcus thought, he would walk away from the other man right now and keep him far away from this _thing_ he was going through. But there was something about the way Oliver felt in his arms right now and the way his dick looked against Oliver's skin that almost made him cum right there and he was way too far into this now to walk away, even if he should.

"Marcus please," the other man hissed through his teeth as his boyfriend thrust wildly behind him. Oliver's neglected hard-on bobbed with every moment, aching to be touched. He pulled and twisted trying to get his hands free so at least he could touch himself. The writhing only seemed to egg Marcus on.

Marcus was fooling himself if he thought he was going to last long. Too much pent up frustration and too many drinks were working against him. It was all too much for him. Suddenly the air seemed thick and with a gasping breath Marcus came, spilling white pearl lines across Oliver's back. It felt good and long and so fucking _right_ that he wanted to cry. Instead he pulled up his pants and backed away, backed away from the man he loved so he couldn't hurt him, couldn't taint him because Oliver was too beautiful for that and Marcus knew he didn't deserve it. And when Oliver turned around and Marcus saw his bruised and swollen face he couldn't take it. He couldn't sit here and watch his only lifeline rub at the sore wrists Marcus caused and stare into battered face he didn't even notice because he was too damn caught up in himself and finally fucking feeling something normal for once. He wanted to go to him, to reach out and tell him he was sorry and everything would be alright, but the truth was he didn't think everything would be. All he could do was walk back out to the porch, to where the night started and hope for more rain to wash everything away.


	4. Chapter 4: Listen Close I'm Screaming

**Chapter 4: Listen Close I'm Screaming Beside **

Oliver was left wide-eyed staring at the open space that Marcus occupied just moments before. His mind swam, torn between trying to recollect his thoughts and managing the hormones racking through his body. He was so fuming mad at this point in time he didn't think a naked all male review could make him cum. Infuriated and frustrated Oliver grabbed at his pants and boxers pulling them back into place. He grabbed his t-shirt on the way out of his bedroom, waving it around in the air as he spoke.

"What the fuck?!" Oliver boomed, slamming the bedroom door on his way out into the hallway. "Not like I wanted to cum… oh no, not me…. I just start jerking off because I wanted to stop and experience the worst case of blue-balls humanly possible!" Oliver adjusted himself as he spoke, emphasizing the situation. "And my face," he continued. "It was so kind of you to notice!"

Marcus knew Oliver was talking. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it. Yet all he heard was a muffled and drowned out mummer. He couldn't focus on anything. He leaned against the rail; head in hands, letting the cold rain wash down his neck, seeping down his back. His eyes and face were on fire from trying to hold back the tears that threatened to burst free at any moment.

"I'm not a punching bag Marcus," Oliver continued his tirade into the living room. "I'm sick of this. I can't take you anymore. I can't take this relationship anymore." He laughed out loud at his own comment. "Can you even call this a relationship anymore? For the good sake of Godric, I feel like you just look right through me these days." Oliver passed back and forth, not even so much as glancing in the other man's direction.

Marcus was visibly shaking now, chocking back the sobs. You should leave him alone, let him go, you are too damaged for him. The words kept running over and over in his head.

Oliver couldn't stand it anymore. "Fine, if you are not even going to talk to me than fuck this and fuck you!" He stormed off toward the door intent on walking out, but part of him knew what was supposed to be coming. This is the way things worked; it was the gamed they played. They would fight, Oliver would threaten to leave, and just about the time he reached for the handle Marcus voice would pierce the silence with an "I love you". He knew it always went this way, that's why he played along. His threats didn't really hold much weight otherwise. He was to the coat rack and still yelling about how he was walking out. Oliver grabbed his coat and swinging it over his shoulder made a grab for the door handle. This is where you come in Marcus. He was greeted with silence. Oliver retracted his hand, debated for a moment, and reached for it again…. still nothing. "Come on Marc, come on" he grumbled to himself. He pulled his hand back and turned around to find Marcus still standing out on the balcony in the rain. Oliver sighed looking to the door again, and then back to Marcus.

That's when he noticed the other man shaking. He squinted, trying to focus more on his boyfriend. Oliver hung his coat back up and made his way out to the porch, picking up Marcus' discarded jacket on the way.

Marcus was so tuned out to the world that he didn't notice Oliver behind him until he felt the warmth of two strong hands and a jacket being wrapped around him. "Don't" was all he could manage to choke out. Oliver ignored him, laying his head on his lover's back. Marcus quickly withdrew, "I said don't!" He moved to the other side of the balcony, gripping the rail and staring out into the night.

"For Salazar's sake Marcus, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Oliver was yelling at the top of his lungs now, throwing his hands wildly around in the air. Marcus didn't answer. "Just…" Oliver paused. He turned his back to the other man, took a deep breath and turned back. He placed his hand on his boyfriend's shoulder and finished "just talk to me."

Marcus turned his head, looking into Oliver's eyes. This was the first time Oliver had gotten a good look at the other man in a few days. There were dark bags under his eyes and his skin was quit pale, contrasting with his dark hair and eyes. His hands were shaking slightly and he seemed quite on edge. He had seen him like this before, but never this bad. It wasn't that Oliver didn't know what to say to, he just couldn't. Even if he could find his voice what did one say in a situation like this? How did you tell someone everything was going to be fine when their pain so evident you could feel it yourself?

"I can't." Marcus could barley choke out the words, secretly hoping the night would swallow then up before Oliver could hear them.

"Why," Oliver took a step forward toward him. "Why can't you just talk to me?"

Marcus pushed himself off of the rail. "Because," he shifted his stare to the other man and then back away. "You don't deserve this. You don't need this from me." Marcus tried to make his way to the open French doors, but Oliver stuck out his left arm and stopped him. He wanted to keep walking, he really did, but Oliver wrapped his arm around him and he felt so warm and damnit, this was not going as planned.

"Talk to me," Oliver whispered into Marcus' ear before gently kissing him on the head. That was it, all strength, all will to hold out was gone. Marcus leaned into Oliver, letting the other man warp his arms around him. He stayed there, enjoying the warmth the other body provided, wishing he never had to leave that moment.

"Marcus," Oliver whispered again.

Marcus sighed and pulled away. It was now or never he guessed. He walked back to the rail, staring out into the night.

"My dad," Marcus started, suddenly finding it hard to swallow. "He… he…"

Fuck… how could he forget what day it was yesterday?! "He died," Oliver moved closer to the other man. "I know. I'm sorry I forgot what day it was yesterday I just-"

"That's not it," Marcus cut him off. "He didn't just die Oliver." He looked back towards his boyfriend, seeing the confusion on his face was too much and Marcus quickly shifted his gaze away. God, suddenly he felt so sick.

"What do you mean he didn't just die?" The bewilderment in his voice was so evident.

Marcus swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. He grip on the rail tightened with every breath.

Oliver stood there, motionless, waiting for something to be said… anything to explain what was going on here.

Marcus took one last breath, summoning up all the courage he could find to let the one person he loved the most in the world in when no one else had been, fearing what would happen once he was.

"Do you know what it's like to live in limbo?"

Oliver wasn't sure he understood the question.

"And it's not just with one thing ya know?" Marcus' tone was becoming increasingly desperate. "It's everything… it's in everything I do, everything I am. Everything feels like nothing and god why can't I just feel something other than this?"

"Marcus I..." Oliver shook his head, trying to show his frustration. "I don't understand what you are telling me."

Marcus sighed, and in a surprisingly come voice answered. "There is this thing," he looked to Oliver, hoping to find some kind of recognition of what he was saying registering across his face. "And it always right there, right in front of me, no matter what I do or how much I don't want it to be… it is always right there." Marcus reached out into thin air as if to demonstrate his point. "It's controlling and the older I get the more it fucking takes a hold of my life. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't even fucking breathe because every time I do I feel like I am consumed by this thing! And it hurts Ollie, it hurts so damn bad."

It killed Oliver to see the man he loved like this when there was absolutely nothing he could do to help. Hell, he still didn't even know exactly what Marcus was talking about. Oliver racked his brain trying to make some logical sense out what he was hearing. The words rolled over and over again in his mind as Marcus kept on talking "controlling, can't sleep, consumed, nightmare" and then he heard a new one that made him jerk his head around and stare back at Marcus in disbelief….

"Murdered," Marcus almost choked on the word. "No one else cared and they just moved on and they didn't even tell me, I had to find out on my fucking own." Marcus was pacing now as the words franticly fell from his lips. "So I dig, I keep digging because there is more truth out there and you just never know what is out there. And it's like the closer I get to the truth the more I can feel this thing looming around me so I know I am close so I have to keep looking and it becomes this vicious cycle I can't get out of."

Oliver sat there, dazed, blinking rapidly trying to make sense out of the situation.

"Murdered, Merlin and they didn't even tell me."

There was that word again.

"My own dad," Marcus lowered his voice this time. "And they didn't even tell me."


	5. Chapter 5: Follow me I

**Chapter 5- Follow Me, I'm Alone**

There are times in our lives when we reach a screeching standstill. When all the lights and sounds die out in one big crescendo and your own heartbeat stands out in stark contrast. But what do you say when realization crashes over you coupled with complete confusion?

"And it's more than just that," Marcus' voice startled Oliver out of his haze. "There is just something not right about it, you know?" Marcus looked up to Oliver as if asking for him to agree. "Something is just off, always has been."

"How so?" Oliver spoke the words before he even had time to think about them. He knew he shouldn't dig into Marcus' pain like this, but he needed to know… needed to understand.

"It's never anything big," Marcus shifted he weight uncomfortably from side to side as he spoke. "Just a lot of little things. I can remember hearing my mom talking in the living room when I was little, but as soon as I would walk in it would be just her there. And I know, Ollie, I knew I heard a man's voice."

"Maybe she just wanted to keep you out of the investigation, you were little then ya know Marc?"

"NO," his tone quickly changed from calm to fearful as he spoke. "You didn't know my mother. You didn't know what she was like." Marcus was quickly becoming violent, pushing over the chairs on the deck. "She used to send me to my room because looking at me was like looking at my father and she couldn't stand it. Who does that?"

"Marcus I-"

"No, there was something going on alright. You don't just get murdered for no reason at all. After awhile everyone gave up hope, they just stopped caring… but not me. I kept looking, for something, anything that would help me figure out who killed my dad. Little by little I would find things and as I did I could almost feel someone watching me, following my every move. That's how I know." Marcus shot Oliver what could almost be conceived as a smile. "I know there is more to this than anyone will let on and I will figure it out if it kills me."

"Is that what all of this is about?" Oliver slowly walked up to the other man. "Marcus, you have to let it go. It sucks and it hurts, but you can't let it take control of your life like this."

"I can't Ollie, it consumes me. It's like it is part of me now and I just can't get rid of part of me. I didn't expect you to understand." With that Marcus walked into the apartment.

Oliver debated his next move for a long while. Did he go back into the house, try to make it right how in the hell was he going to do that? or did he just walk on by Marcus, pick his jacket back up, and march out the front door leaving this entire mess behind him. It wasn't really a question, he knew what he would do, but was it really so bad that a part of him, all be it a little part, wanted to just cut and run? Finally being free of all this stress, of all this weight of being with Marcus? Oliver sighed loudly before turning around and heading into the apartment.

Marcus was leaning against the kitchen counter top, rolling a shot glass around in his left hand.

"You don't need anymore."

Marcus snapped around, finding Oliver standing no more than a foot away from him. Why hasn't he run yet? "I can make that call for myself thank you."

Oliver made a quick grab for the shot glass hoping Marcus would be too drunk to react. However, quidditich reflexes kicked in and Marcus pulled his hand away before the other man could reach it, sending Oliver flying forward with momentum and pinning Marcus between the counter and the rock hard body of a keeper. They stayed there for a moment just looking at each other before Oliver spoke.

"I'm not him you know."

Marcus lowered his head, trying to avoid Oliver's intense gaze. It was futile though, and he knew it. Oliver placed his fingers on Marcus' chin and tiled his head up so their eyes met.

"I won't break; you won't hurt me if you let me in. I won't disappear just because you love me. "

"But I-"

"But I will disappear if you don't love me."

Marcus ripped his face away from the strong grasp being held on his chin and turned his back to Oliver. It was too much, all of it. The encounter in the alley, confiding in Oliver, letting all of his ghosts out in the open to be pointed at and judged, he couldn't take much more or he was afraid he might crumble. And now Oliver thinking that he didn't— _he couldn't really think that did he?_

"It's by far the hardest thing I've ever done Oliver," his voice faltering. "To be so in love with you and so alone…I can't lose you," the words were barley a whisper above the rain outside. "Merlin Ollie, I can't lose you."

That did it, Oliver didn't need anything else. Just hearing those words and how they were said, so desperate, so needy, he was lost in it all. He wrapped his arms around Marcus' waist, laying his head on the other man's back. His hands idly played with the hem of Marcus' shirt, fingers ghosting along the tight muscles of his stomach. Marcus whimpered softly in the back of his throat. He was putty in Oliver's hands and he didn't give a damn if the other man knew that. He needed this, opening up and knowing someone was there to catch him when he did.

It was as if Oliver could feel the other man breaking in his arms. All the tension, the secrets, the lies were all gone. There was nothing left but the two of them in that moment. Oliver couldn't help sliding his hands up Marcus' shirt, splaying his fingers out across his warm chest. He wanted to touch and enjoy the moment, but he was still so wound up he didn't know if he could wait.

Oliver gowned when wondering hands made their way down his side, resting on his hips. He slipped Marcus' ear into his mouth a gently tugged on the soft flesh with his teeth. "Mine," he whispered softly, knowing he was lost to this man forever.

Mine the word almost made Marcus cum on the spot and Oliver wasn't even touching him yet. A string of promises being whispered in his ear coupled with the shear heat of the keeper's body was enough to drive him crazy. A wandering hand on his thigh, hot breath on his neck, and that tongue. _Merlin that tongue. _Marcus spun around, almost knocking Oliver over as he did so. Now face to face they pushed their lips together, hot and needy and to desperate to be good, but neither of them cared. It was the principle of the damn thing. Marcus made a grab for Oliver's pants first, fumbling with zipper and hastily pushing the jeans and boxers down out of the way. One hand reached around his back pulling him close while the other slowly slid over his rock hard cock. Oliver choked back a sob as his head fell to Marcus' shoulder.

Marcus loved the feeling of Oliver, how heavy his body felt against his own, the way his chest would rise and fall as he breathed, how soft the skin of his cock felt against his hands. Everything about him felt like fucking poetry. Marcus was so wrapped up he almost didn't feel his own pants being shoved down…_almost_.

"Oliver," Marcus gasped out.

Oliver thought his name never sounded better than when moaned from the lips of his lover.

Everything became a whirlwind of bodies pushing into each other, fingers fumbling for bare skin, each fighting for control. Oliver had Marcus pinned between himself and the counter. It took every bit of self control to keep himself from pounding away into his boyfriend's fist. He wanted to make Marcus come first, listen to him cry out as his orgasms rocked through him, but his body had other ideas.

Marcus could feel it building deep in the pit of his stomach, that warm tingle sucking him in, letting him know he was close. The friction from their bodies being sandwiched together was wrecking havoc on any control he had left. Somewhere in the deep fog of his lust filled mind he heard Oliver sputter the words "don't, can't, close," but he was too far in to understand.

Oliver couldn't hold out any longer, not after the state Marcus had left him in earlier. A few more strokes from nimble fingers and he came, painting lines of white across Marcus' hand and chest.

He felt it, he fucking felt Oliver's orgasm, it was enough to send him crashing over the edge, grabbing onto anything he could find for support. He stayed there, grasping onto Oliver, waiting for the world to come back into focus.

Oliver was grinning like a mad man by this point in time, laying his forehead against Marcus'.

"Do you have to have that goofy look on your face?" Marcus asked, trying to put as much sarcasm into the question as possible? Oliver tried to make a straight face, forcing the corners of his mouth down into an exaggerated frown.

"Is this better?" he asked in a mocking tone.

Marcus took one look at him and began to laugh, _god it felt good to laugh again_. Oliver soon followed suit and both men were soon barking with laughter.

"That was like the first time we hooked up," Oliver managed between fits of laughter. , all awkward and needy."

"Ya, you couldn't keep your hands off of me," Marcus retorted, his laughter finally settling down.

"Me?! You're the one that pushed me under the quidditch stands after our match!"

"I know of no such thing," Marcus shot him a crooked smile.

"Oh you don't huh?" Oliver wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. "Do I have to remind you… again?"

Marcus leaned in, kissing Oliver's neck. "Maybe."

Oliver chuckled, sticking his hands into Marcus' jacket pockets and pulling in closer. His hand felt a folded piece of parchment in one of the pockets and he pulled it out, eyeing his boyfriend.

"What, pick up some bloke's number while you were out?"

Marcus eyed the paper, "No, I've never seen that before." He took the parchment from Oliver's hand and unfolded it. "What in Circe's sake is this?"

Both men leaned over the note.

_Mr. Flint-_

_We are not much different you and I. In face, I think you will find we have some common ground we are both working towards. Let us see who much we can truly help each other. You should not let fear consume you Mr. Flint, you will be much better off once you learn that._

_P.S.- net time you want a drink you should stop by… again. I'll be waiting._

"Fuck me," Oliver breathed out, rubbing the back of his neck. "Where in the bloody hell did you get that?"

Marcus closed his eyes, replaying the last few days. Then it hit him… in the alleyway. There was someone following him. He knew he wasn't completely crazy. His eyes snapped open and his stare focused on Oliver's questioning eyes.

"I told you I was being followed."


	6. Chapter 6: Common Ground

**Chapter 6: Common Ground**

The bell above the pub door rang out as Marcus entered. He expected to be greeted with blaring music and moving bodies just like the last time, but instead found the place to be dark and stagnant. He scanned the bar hoping something would jump out at him. Two old men playing wizard chess, the bar keep wiping down the counter, a young couple cuddling in the corner… nothing out of the ordinary.

Compared to the cold outside, the inside of the bar was warm and Marcus found an odd comfort it in. There were half melted candles casting lighting on each table while the corners of the room remained in the shadows. Marcus laughed to himself as he settled into a booth at the far end of the room. Almost his whole life had been spent trying to get out of the shadow of his father's death and here he was literally climbing back into them for the same reason.

He almost wished Oliver was there with him, but he knew better. The Gryffindor had flat out stated that he was coming along and it took Marcus a good bit on convincing on his part to make him stay home. He had enough to worry about right now, he didn't need something bad to go down tonight and have Oliver caught up in it. He had spent too much time taking him for granted over the past years and now he was going to fight any way he could to keep him safe.

The candle on the table in front of him was almost all but melted down into the table. Marcus played with the flame, alternating between snuffing it out between his fingers and lighting it again using only his hand. He made the mistake of doing this in a muggle bar once and had to make a hasty exit when he started to catch glances from the other patrons. Here he knew no one here would bother him, this was not the type of place any muggle would know about. So caught up in what he was doing he almost jumped out of his seat when the bar keep slammed a pint down on his table. Marcus looked at him in confusion.

"I didn't-"

"I know you didn't," the man grumbled back. "The man at the bar did." Marcus' eyes shot immediately over there and he felt his heart jump when he noticed a long figured dressed in all black, hood falling over his face.

"T-thanks," Marcus sputtered out as the man waved a dismissive hand in his direction.

What to do next, that was the question. Was this some kind of invite, what if he walked over there and it was just some crazy old man handing out drinks. He looked down at his glass, it looked harmless enough. Casting his gaze back up he noticed the figure was gone. His heart started to pound, had his missed his chance?

"Mr. Flint" Marcus jumped this time, finding the person he was looking for standing right next to him. "I thought I told you to control you fear, you really will be better off."

"Well then don't fucking come out of no ware like that, Merlin!"

The man slid into the seat across from him, positioning his own drink on the table. "Please, drink."

"Why don't you just tell me what all of this is about, who are you anyway?"

From what Marcus could see of the other man's face there was a smile lingering on his lips.

"I thought you would have figured that out by now," said the man, his voice deep and haunting.

"Fuck if I can figure any of this out so why don't you just come out with it eh? Marcus was starting to get annoyed now.

The man sat for a moment as if contemplating his next move before he spoke. "Have you ever thought about how your father died Mr. Flint?"

Marcus was visibly taken back by the question. Unable to answer, the stranger went on.

"Not just how he died Mr. Flint, but why, when, the circumstances, the timing behind it all." The man's voice got more intense with every word.

"I- I'm not sure I get what you are trying to say." Marcus racked his brain for reasoning. He was 8 when his dad died, what was so important about him being 8?

"Think harder Mr. Flint, think outside the box, outside your life. Your father was murdered, but why, by whom?" He leaned in now, closing the gap between the two of them. "Did it ever occur to you that the night your father died is the same night He Who Must Not Be Named was thought to be defeated?"

The words crashed over Marcus like a damn breaking.

Then man continued, "Who would murder an innocent man Mr. Flint? The same group of people who happened to be out that night doing unthinkable crimes and speaking unforgivable cruses."

"Death Eaters," the word spilled from Marcus' lips.

The stranger smiled again and then leaned back.

"You asked me earlier who I was," Marcus managed a small nod. "Who I am outside of what I am about to tell you is of no importance to you," Marcus nodded again. "I am a member of a secret order designed to fight against the forces of He Who Must Not Be Named and his Deatheaters. I am here to ask for your help, but in doing so ask that you join us in our fight."

Marcus didn't know how to respond. He wasn't entirely sure he knew what was going on here, but he didn't really care either. He knew it had to be done. Without another thought or consideration Marcus spoke, "What would I have to do?"

"I said we could help each other and I meant that. You wish to find out who killed your father and we wish to find out more information on the Death Eaters. I think we can both agree a Death Eater probably killed your dad, if not, I am sure they would know who did. I'll make this short and to the point. The order comes to you with this deal: work undercover for us, join the Death Eaters and penetrate their forces. Find out any and all information that you can about your father, but you will intern share all information you come across with us."

Marcus gritted his teeth as he spoke. "And when I am done, when I found out what I wanted to know?"

"We can offer you protection beyond anything you could imagine," the man stood up as he spoke, tossing some money down on the table. "Have another drink and think about Mr. Flint."

Marcus stood quickly, grabbed the coins and pressed them back into the man's hand. "Just tell me when and where."

"Very good," his voice so low Marcus had to strain to hear it, "I'll be in touch soon, oh and Mr. Flint," the words tossed casually over his shoulder, "welcome to the Order of the Phoenix."


	7. Chapter 7: Chasing Memories

**Chapter 6: Chasing Memories**

Memories are interesting things. It seems the points in our life we would rather forget are the ones that resurface at inconvenient times, often frustrating and emotional. Yet when we wish to think back, to recall things so pivotal in our lives the memory seems to dart away, just barley slipping trough our fingers, so tangible but so elusive. And the more we think, the harder we try the more the thought becomes faded and blurred, jaded with the illusion of what we wish to picture other than what was really there. It is madding really, trying to recall what you had worked so hard to forget.

It was like a giant jigsaw puzzle he almost had all the pieces to, but the picture on the box made no sense. Each piece held so much potential Death Eater, murder, crime, but there were still vacant holes motive, reason, evidence. He tried to think back, drudge up all the things he had dismissed in his youth. The voices late at night, the fights his parents used to have that would stop the moment he entered the room. There had to be something there, something that would tell him why his father was a marked man. Or maybe it was all a case of wrong place wrong time.

Marcus fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket as he walked, heading to the last place on earth he really wanted to be, but felt some strange pull to that he couldn't avoid. As he walked he wondered what it would have been like to have a normal misspent youth chasing daydreams and pissing away time. In the back of his mind Marcus knew this beast that had taken over his life was there, even in his younger days. As a kid he poured himself in to quidditch, hoping that would take away the pain. It was the perfect vehicle as a cooping mechanism. Everything was spelled out, rules, regulations and there was always a clear winner and loser… always. Someone had to win and people have to die and that is just the normal order of things, but he didn't have to accept the last part. The rules on his dad's life were bent and changed out if his control so Marcus twisted the rules of quidditch, altered them to benefit him, made them work in the ways he wanted. He liked finally having control.

He hardly ever caved, but he did once, in his 8th7th year. A boy, a Ravencalw if he remembered correctly what was that about memories fading?, they bumped shoulders in the hallway and Marcus growled something. The boy shot back with a quip along the lines of "Marcus' parents must be ecstatic to have the only 8th year in the entire school" and "is that why no one ever sees your parent's at your matches, is your daddy not proud of you?" Marcus bloody his face right there in front of everyone… professors, students… everyone. That night alone in his room, his friends were too scared to check on him, he punched the wall and broke his hand. The next day he said it was from quidditch and no one ever spoke of it again. The searing pain in his left hand was a constant reminder for the next month of why he didn't give into emotions. So the thoughts were neatly tucked away again, folded at the bottom of the pile.

It was only after Hogwarts; after the years of repression and lies became too much that his father's death slowly began to take over his life. He can recall one time on Oliver's birthday. He came home to the sight of cards and the smell of cake. There were presents and wrapping paper strewn about the apartment. Oliver, his parents and his sister all sat at the kitchen counter, laughing and eating cake. He remembers standing there, just stopping and staring, unable to speak as he looked at the four of them. He must have been there for a few minutes before anyone realized.

"We were gonna wait for ye," Oliver's accent was thick with excitement. "But I didn't know when ya would be home."

Marcus shook his head and whispered "It's fine" before he walked away into the bedroom.

And it was fine, really… for Oliver at least. Marcus stayed in the bedroom for the rest of the night feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. When everyone left Oliver came at him demanding to know why he didn't join them, why he didn't even care about his birthday. He did care, more than Oliver would know, but how do you tell someone that the last time you even got a birthday card you were 8 and now you're not sure if you even know what a birthday is supposed to feel like anymore. If you can't fell it then how can you possibly help someone else with theirs? The fight lasted almost all night until Marcus pulled out a box he had been hiding in his pocket and told Oliver he was sorry and that he just didn't handle "family things" well and lied about not want to intrude. That night Oliver slept curled around him and Marcus didn't. He didn't sleep at all. It was painful, a beautiful pain he had never experienced. He didn't dream, no shadows in his mind coming back at night to haunt him and he vowed to try it more often.

The wind howled through the brush as Marcus approached a large old metal gate. He latched onto the handle, a shock of cold running down his arm. The door pulled open with a loud creak and slammed behind him with the wind. He had been here before, just not in many years and it was a pain trying to find the right spot. He walked along with only the moonlight to show the way, the names of so many staring back up at him. It only took him a few minutes before he located the massive granite slab with the name Flint inscribed across the front. It was overdone and towered over the others, even in death his dad had to standout.

Now that he was here he wasn't sure what to do. He was hoping this would provide some sort of closure. Maybe it would assure him that what he was about to embark on was the right course. Instead he found nothing but an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"I hate you for this you know that right," Marcus spit out the words he had so been longing to say. "My life is ruined because of you." As soon as he spoke them the guilt took over, resonating like a drum in his head. "Fuck," he breathed out, leaning his hand on the gravestone.

A tumble of thunder signaled the staying power of the storm outside and a bright streak of lighting lit up the sky. It was time. Time to go forward with what he knew was right. Marcus took one last look at the stone before walking away into the night.

It was still dark out when he reached home. Sure he would find Oliver asleep he slowly crept inside the flat.

"Where have you been?" Marcus jumped when he realized Oliver was sitting on the couch waiting for him.

"I was waiting," Marcus retorted. "You knew where I was."

"Ya, but I didn't think you would be out this late." He walked over to where Marcus was and put his arms around him. "So?"

"So what?"

"You know what," Oliver pushed him playfully. "What happened?"

"No one showed."

"What?" Oliver asked in disbelief.

"I mean no one showed up," Marcus put the best scowl on his face as he could. "I just sat there."

"Well..." Oliver thought about this for a moment. "What are you gonna do now?"

"I don't know, not much I can do really." He wrapped his arm around Oliver's waist. "All I know is right now I'm exhausted."

"Fine," he ran his hand through Marcus' hair. "Let's get some sleep then."

Marcus smiled, knowing that tonight he could actually sleep because for the first time in his life he was not being chased by something. No, starting tomorrow he was chasing it.


	8. Chapter 8: You May be Losing the Fight

**Chapter 8: You may be losing the fight, but you can't lose the war**

From the moment he got the owl telling him when and where to be Marcus knew this night would forever be charred into his brain.

They were in a graveyard, an adequate foreshadowing of what his fate would be if he chose to disobey orders. The entire place reeked of death and fear. And there Marcus stood, another nameless face huddled in with the masses. Unlike the rest, he wore no white mask. His mark of servitude was yet to come, bore into his flesh as well as his mind. Now was not the time for his arrogant side to show through. He knew that. He knew he should play the servant and let those in charge play master. He should know better, but he couldn't help the cocky crooked smile of his pasted across his face. He was playing them. Playing them for everything they knew and all they were worth and they didn't even see it coming.

They were all standing there in a circle staring off into the middle. Marcus wondered if there was something there only they could see. He strained and squinted hoping something would appear, but nothing did. Marcus shifted his weight uncomfortably from side to side as he looked around. Suddenly there was two loud pops and two hooded figures appeared in the middle. They stood there for a moment before turning around and looking at everyone. Marcus froze as one stopped and looked right at him. Then a long narrow finger reached out from the robes and pointed right at him.

The pounding of his heart beat so loud it rang in his ears. He couldn't hear anything other than his own labored breathing before a hand grasp the back of his neck, pushing him into the center of the circle and forcing him down to his knees. Strong fingers wrapped around his neck, holding him there like some condemned man awaiting his fate. He fought against every urge, ever nerve in his body that told him to bolt. He stayed there, knee deep in mud, mind racing like a wounded animal surrounded by the men that hunted it. His head began to hang lifeless, mind dizzy from the death grip on his neck. The world started to blur at the edges and Marcus was afraid he would pass out before the real torture even began. A quick jerk from behind and his head snapped up, catching as glimpse as the two hooded figures made their way out of the shadows. He forced himself to look, to make eye contact with a creature that he didn't even consider human. Every step they took closed the gap between them, every motion echoing in his ears. The night was cold and still and yet his mind was so full. The moonlight danced off the gravestones dotted along the ground and Marcus wondered how many of them once stood in his place. A quick jab to his back with a knee and his attention was back on the present; the space between the three of them mere inches now. He could smell them, a strong pungent reek of death and it took everything in him not to throw up.

"Look at me," a raspy voice whispered out.

Marcus rolled his head to the side, trying to writhe away from the man holding him from behind. How could he look? He knew who's voice that was without having to make eye contact. No one else could sound half alive and still command authority.

"I said look at me boy!" the sound was enough to make your blood curdle.

Marcus snapped his head around and started right into crimson red eyes. The other figure stood back a few feet and Marcus shifted his gaze over to it. It looked so inhuman standing there, all dark hood and porcelain mask. The figured cocked its head to the side upon the eye contact. Suddenly, Voldemort moved in, grasping Marcus' chin in his hand, forcing them to lock eyes. He leaned down, so close Marcus could almost taste the hate that hung around him.

"Such intensity," he murmured, still looking over Marcus' face as if inspecting it. He looked a few seconds longer before quickly pushing his face back to the side. "Draw back his robes."

Marcus watched as Voldemort turned his back to him and drew his wand. He could see everyone starting to move and shift with anticipation. That _creature _was talking to them, but the words were lost on Marcus. They hit his ears as a low rumble, trying to force themselves to be heard. The grip on his neck tightened as another hand pushed down on his shoulder, sinking him deeper into the muddy ground. He felt like he was drowning, chocking on his own emotions he was holding in. The other figure now made its way towards him, cover the few feet of ground between them in two long strides. Long yellow fingernails raked back his robes and dug into his skin as they held his arm steady. Before he knew it Voldemort was upon him again, wand pushing into his skin as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Marcus sputtered and cursed at the pain as his eyes locked with those of the man holding his arm. Even behind the white mask there was something familiar there.

The grip on his neck and arm were released and Marcus sunk to the ground, not realizing how much they were supporting. He struggled to push himself up with shaky limbs, but only managed to fall back down to the wet ground. He raised his head expecting to find Death Eaters descending upon him, but instead saw nothing. Only one figured remained. Marcus watched it as it walked circles around him, wand in hand, always pointing at Marcus. He could tell by the fingernails it was the man who held his arm while the mark was burned into him.

"The fuck you want?" Marcus spit out dirt as he talked. Shaky arms finally pushing him up to his knees.

The man didn't answer. Instead he grabbed a hold of Marcus' chin, examining his face for a moment before shoving him back down into the dirt.

Marcus looked back up to the man, whipped his mouth with the back of his hand and rose to his feet.

"Why are you here?" the man asked, pointing his wand straight at him.

"Shouldn't you have asked me that before you burned this thing into my arm?" Marcus shot back sarcastically, rolling his sleeve up to emphasize the point.

The man laughed. "Just as I remembered you," the man turned so they were face to face. "Always had a tongue on you, even back then."

Marcus stared wide eyed and confused as the man spoke.

"I expected you to find your way here Marcus, but I must say I'm disappointed it took you this long."

"Don't talk to me like you know me!" Marcus spat out.

"Don't take that tone with me BOY!" the man quickly closed the distance between the two of them, jabbing his wand into Marcus' neck.

"Strong words from someone who won't even show me his face." Marcus managed to choke out.

The man didn't move, but Marcus could hear him breathing heavily. Slowly the wand was pulled away and Marcus quickly rubbed the sore spot now forming on his neck.

"Yes," the man whispered, shaking his head as he stepped backwards. "Just like your father."

At that Marcus stopped what he was doing and fixed all of his concentration onto what was being said. "You knew him?"

"Yes, I knew him," the man spoke in a softer tone now. "I knew him well." The man turned his back to Marcus as he spoke. "He was a good man, a weak man, but a good man."

"Then you know what happened to him?" the words almost tripping over themselves with excitement.

"Yes I do," the man still didn't waver from his spot. "He was killed."

There was cold silence that followed. Marcus could feel it seeping into his bones. He was almost scared to hear what was to come next. This was the point he had waited for, what he had done this for.

"By who?"

At this the man started to laugh. It was an uncontrolled, giddy laughed that scared the hell out of Marcus.

"By who you ask, by _who_?" The man laughed even harder now. "By me of course dear boy."

Marcus could feel all of the life drain out of his face. He stumbled backwards, slamming his back into a tree. He cried out in pain as his head bounce off the trunk. When he opened his eyes the world seemed blurred. He could barley make out the dark outline of the man as he turned and walked towards him again.

"I killed him," still laughing the man continued on. "I set him free dear boy. Free from the empty meaningless life he was leading."

"It wasn't meaningless!" Marcus shot back, blinking rapidly as he tried to see clearly again.

"He had no one boy! He had no one and I gave him this." He placed his hand on his own chest as he spoke the words.

"HE HAD ME!" Marcus shouted barley able to control himself. "He had me and you took him away!" Marcus ran at the man, unsure as to what his next move would be other than tackling him to the ground and beating the living shit out of him.

Quickly the man raised his wand back up and shouted expelliarmus. Marcus was sent flying backwards, slamming down into the ground as his wand flew far out of reach. Before he could even think accio the man stepped on his wrist, crushing it down into the mud.

"I see that temper has followed you through life," the man said, staring off into the distant night.

"Let…me…go," Marcus demanded.

The man laughed again, removing his foot from Marcus' wrist. Marcus made a quick grab for his wand, pointing it right at the man's heart. "I could kill you, you know."

"Well I would hope so, or else why are you here, in this graveyard, sporting that mark?"

Marcus quickly glanced down at his arm; he had almost forgotten what had just happened to him. The ugly skull and snake stared back at him, almost mocking him for what he had become. He was so caught up in though he didn't even notice the hooded man until he was right next to him.

"It's true I killed your father Marcus," his eyes gazed down at the young man's arm. "But I gave him this," he ran his fingers over Marcus' Dark Mark. "I gave him something that had purpose, meaning, something that could change our world.

Marcus looked up, disgusted by the proximity of the man, but strangely intrigued since he didn't understand anything the man was saying.

"I killed your father, but not the man." As he spoke, long thin fingers reached up to the porcelain white mask and pulled it away until it lay in his hands.

Marcus couldn't look, couldn't bear to know the truth that was now literally starting him in the face. All these years he had been tormented by his father's death, all these years he let it wear him down and define who he was. Now he stood, covered in mud and the Dark Mark, standing toe to toe with the last man he thought he would ever find… his father.


	9. Chapter 9: Direction means nothing if

**Chapter 9: Direction means nothing if you don't know your way**

When Marcus made it home that night to his and Oliver's one bedroom flat it was three in the morning. He snuck in, slowly making his way to the bathroom. He quickly shut the door behind him and locked it, laying his forehead against the wood. He stayed there; eyes closed holding his breath listening for any sound or indication that Oliver had woke. He had to remind himself to breath once he started to get dizzy, letting out all the air he had been holding in one big sigh. Hearing no sounds Marcus spun around and headed to the shower. The handles squeaked as he turned and he cringed at the sound. Warm water flowed from the faucet and steam soon enveloped the small bathroom. For a moment he thought he saw dark figures skirting around the dense fog and he had to close his eyes to steady his nerves. Marcus shook his head trying to clear away the ghostly memories and undressed. He climbed under the warm spray imaging all of his stress washing away with the water. All the pain, fear and uncertainties drowning along with what little hope he still clung to. His hands were shaking as he racked them through his hair. "For Salazar's sake," he cursed himself out loud for letting panic take hold of him like this. Summing all of his strength he went about finishing his shower, slowly pausing as he ran his fingers over his newly acquired mark. There was so much pain and anger inside of him he couldn't see straight. His chest felt tight and it seemed as thou the room was closing in around him. Marcus forced his eyes open as he gasped for air. "Get control of yourself Flint," he whispered into the steam.

Stepping out onto the rug, his body still dripping, Marcus looked around for a towel. Reaching over to the towel rack he caught a glimpse in the mirror. The reflection he saw was of someone he no longer recognized; the dark mark now standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin. How he hated it. It was meant to help him avenge his father's death, instead he found a coward that he no longer recognized hiding among dark legions. If he could just get rid of it, cut it out then it would be like tonight never happened. He could go back and pretend that his father was a good man and was killed in a random senseless act of violence. Quickly his eyes shifted around the bathroom before his gaze landed on a small shinny object. Making a quick dash for it he dropped the towel he was holding, knocking over many bottles on the counter in the process. He picked up the razor with his shaking hand and pressed it hard against the mark on his skin. Blood started to run down his arm coving the skull and snake with deep red ribbons of pureblood linage. _Now this is a much more fitting icon._

There were two quick rasped at the door and Marcus dropped the razor to the floor with a clank.

"Didn't drowned in there did you?" Oliver's muffled voice sounded from the other side of the wall.

"N-no," Marcus choked out in a half stammer half sob, but I wish I did.

"Are you alright?" there was a deep concern in the way Oliver spoke.

"Be out in a minute," was all Marcus could manage.

He pushed his ear to the door listening to the soft patter of footstep as they led back to the bedroom. When he heard the creak of the old wood bed and the sounds of sheets rustling he knew he was safe. This was something Oliver was best left out of, at least for now. Marcus knew he would have to tell him eventually; concealment charms only lasted so long after all. He looked at his arm, blood running freely down its length, and cursed. He quickly started the water running in the sink and stuck his arm under it. The water was freezing, but by this point in time he couldn't feel it, hell if he could feel anything really. He felt numb from the inside out. Marcus bent down and picked up the razor blade again, running it under the water before tossing it into the trash. A flick of the wrist and a quick charm later the mark was hidden. _If only it was all that easy._

Everything had become hazy and so out of reach. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so helpless. The only thing that compared was the time he took the rowboat out onto the lake behind his house when he was five. It was a windy day and the waves caused the boat to tip. He thought he would drown for sure, but his dad saw him and pulled him from the water. _His dad, the one who thought he didn't have anything worth making a life with, the one who had to kill off one side of himself so he could become something he thought was worth living for._ Slowly Marcus picked the discarded towel back up. Wrapping it around his waist, he made his way into the bedroom.

Oliver watched as Marcus walked into the room, hair still dripping from the shower. Their dresser was opposite the bed so he only could see him from behind, but judging from how late he got home and the mood he seemed to be in Oliver knew something was wrong.

"Baby?" Oliver asked, but he got no response. "Marc?" he tried again.

Marcus was oblivious. He pulled a tee-shirt and shorts out from the dresser drawer and set them on top of the cabinet. The apartment was keep relatively warm due to the fact that Oliver hated to be cold. Marcus was the exact opposite, always warm and constantly complaining about how hot it was in their flat. Even so, he couldn't help but shiver. After dressing he turned around to find Oliver had pulled back the covers on his side and was now motioning for him to crawl in. Marcus complied, too tired to fight sleep or Oliver. He sunk into the soft give the bed provided and closed his eyes immediately. Talking was not an option right now. Oliver reached over and ran his hand down his back and Marcus found himself leaning his weight into the warmth it provided. Even though the tee-shirt Marcus felt like ice.

"Marcus?" All he got was a grunt in return. "Is everything alright, are you sick?"

Marcus contemplated his answer for a moment. He didn't feel ill. As least not the kind of ill any medicine could fix, but the kind where you feel like you lost part of yourself. It was as if part of him died tonight and he didn't know if he would ever be whole again.

"Ya," Marcus replied. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke, afraid that if he opened them all of his emotions would come spilling out and expose him. "I _feel_ sick."


	10. Chapter 10: A History of Violence

**Chapter 9: Direction means nothing if you don't know your way**

When Marcus made it home that night to his and Oliver's one bedroom flat it was three in the morning. He snuck in, slowly making his way to the bathroom. He quickly shut the door behind him and locked it, laying his forehead against the wood. He stayed there; eyes closed holding his breath listening for any sound or indication that Oliver had woke. He had to remind himself to breath once he started to get dizzy, letting out all the air he had been holding in one big sigh. Hearing no sounds Marcus spun around and headed to the shower. The handles squeaked as he turned and he cringed at the sound. Warm water flowed from the faucet and steam soon enveloped the small bathroom. For a moment he thought he saw dark figures skirting around the dense fog and he had to close his eyes to steady his nerves. Marcus shook his head trying to clear away the ghostly memories and undressed. He climbed under the warm spray imaging all of his stress washing away with the water. All the pain, fear and uncertainties drowning along with what little hope he still clung to. His hands were shaking as he racked them through his hair. "For Salazar's sake," he cursed himself out loud for letting panic take hold of him like this. Summing all of his strength he went about finishing his shower, slowly pausing as he ran his fingers over his newly acquired mark. There was so much pain and anger inside of him he couldn't see straight. His chest felt tight and it seemed as thou the room was closing in around him. Marcus forced his eyes open as he gasped for air. "Get control of yourself Flint," he whispered into the steam.

Stepping out onto the rug, his body still dripping, Marcus looked around for a towel. Reaching over to the towel rack he caught a glimpse in the mirror. The reflection he saw was of someone he no longer recognized; the dark mark now standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin. How he hated it. It was meant to help him avenge his father's death, instead he found a coward that he no longer recognized hiding among dark legions. If he could just get rid of it, cut it out then it would be like tonight never happened. He could go back and pretend that his father was a good man and was killed in a random senseless act of violence. Quickly his eyes shifted around the bathroom before his gaze landed on a small shinny object. Making a quick dash for it he dropped the towel he was holding, knocking over many bottles on the counter in the process. He picked up the razor with his shaking hand and pressed it hard against the mark on his skin. Blood started to run down his arm coving the skull and snake with deep red ribbons of pureblood linage. Now this is a much more fitting icon.

There were two quick rasped at the door and Marcus dropped the razor to the floor with a clank.

"Didn't drowned in there did you?" Oliver's muffled voice sounded from the other side of the wall.

"N-no," Marcus choked out in a half stammer half sob, but I wish I did.

"Are you alright?" there was a deep concern in the way Oliver spoke.

"Be out in a minute," was all Marcus could manage.

He pushed his ear to the door listening to the soft patter of footstep as they led back to the bedroom. When he heard the creak of the old wood bed and the sounds of sheets rustling he knew he was safe. This was something Oliver was best left out of, at least for now. Marcus knew he would have to tell him eventually; concealment charms only lasted so long after all. He looked at his arm, blood running freely down its length, and cursed. He quickly started the water running in the sink and stuck his arm under it. The water was freezing, but by this point in time he couldn't feel it, hell if he could feel anything really. He felt numb from the inside out. Marcus bent down and picked up the razor blade again, running it under the water before tossing it into the trash. A flick of the wrist and a quick charm later the mark was hidden. If only it was all that easy.

Everything had become hazy and so out of reach. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so helpless. The only thing that compared was the time he took the rowboat out onto the lake behind his house when he was five. It was a windy day and the waves caused the boat to tip. He thought he would drown for sure, but his dad saw him and pulled him from the water. His dad, the one who thought he didn't have anything worth making a life with, the one who had to kill off one side of himself so he could become something he thought was worth living for. Slowly Marcus picked the discarded towel back up. Wrapping it around his waist, he made his way into the bedroom.

Oliver watched as Marcus walked into the room, hair still dripping from the shower. Their dresser was opposite the bed so he only could see him from behind, but judging from how late he got home and the mood he seemed to be in Oliver knew something was wrong.

"Baby?" Oliver asked, but he got no response. "Marc?" he tried again.

Marcus was oblivious. He pulled a tee-shirt and shorts out from the dresser drawer and set them on top of the cabinet. The apartment was keep relatively warm due to the fact that Oliver hated to be cold. Marcus was the exact opposite, always warm and constantly complaining about how hot it was in their flat. Even so, he couldn't help but shiver. After dressing he turned around to find Oliver had pulled back the covers on his side and was now motioning for him to crawl in. Marcus complied, too tired to fight sleep or Oliver. He sunk into the soft give the bed provided and closed his eyes immediately. Talking was not an option right now. Oliver reached over and ran his hand down his back and Marcus found himself leaning his weight into the warmth it provided. Even though the tee-shirt Marcus felt like ice.

"Marcus?" All he got was a grunt in return. "Is everything alright, are you sick?"

Marcus contemplated his answer for a moment. He didn't feel ill. As least not the kind of ill any medicine could fix, but the kind where you feel like you lost part of yourself. It was as if part of him died tonight and he didn't know if he would ever be whole again.

"Ya," Marcus replied. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke, afraid that if he opened them all of his emotions would come spilling out and expose him. "I feel sick."


	11. Chapter 11: Sow Me What You’re Made Of

A.N: This chapter contains flashback from the previous night- as indicated by italic text.

**Chapter 11: Show Me What You're Made Of**

The morning light crept through the apartment, slowly stretching its fingertips across the wood floor highlighting the rich dark grain. Shadows cast themselves across the corners of the room, threatening to engulf anything that ventured by. And there he sat on the ground, back leaning against the frame of the couch, slowly rolling an unlit cigarette around in his fingers. Legs spread out in front on him; head lulling back on the armrest- to say he was tired was an understatement. Marcus watched as the light on the floor slowly crept up his legs, fighting back the shadows that hid him from the waist up. Muggle jeans frayed at the knee, bruised hands and bloody knuckles were all slowly visible as the sunbeams may their way up his body until his lower half was fully bathed in light. A small grunt was elicited from his lips as the burned black lines on his left forearm, now visible in the early morning light, starred back up at him. No use in hiding it now.

_"Alright," Marcus yelled digging the tip of his wand dangerously hard into his skin as if hoping to draw blood. "But just remember you asked for this!"_

_Oliver swallowed hard unable to tare his eyes away from the inevitable doom he was sure was to come. Marcus' eyes were so full of anger and range they were almost glowing, sparking with what was probably tears of frustration._

_"It's just never good enough is it?" Marcus grumbled to himself while digging the wand tip down harder. "I loved my dad and that wasn't good enough, I try to keep you safe and that isn't good enough."_

_Oliver wasn't sure if he was supposed to respond or not, but he had never really had firm control over his actions… always speaking first and thinking later. "Wait," he yelled, grabbing for Marcus' arm. "I- I don't…" he chocked back a sob. "I don't know if I am ready for what you-."_

_"Stupid….dad….stupid….not trusting me…stupid….bloody….mark," Marcus continued to mutter to himself as he cast a spell downwards towards his arm, completely unaware that Oliver was talking to him or holding his arm. Sparks shout out from his wand's tip in green and silver flecks evaporating into the air before ever hitting the ground._

Marcus' head lulled from side to side as he fought back waves of exhaustion. Besides the sound of the wind outside it was stone silent in the apartment. He sighed, twisting his head around to survey the room. Broken glass lay strewn about the apartment, chairs were tipped over, and the kitchen table was on its side. Marcus slammed his head back on the armrest in frustration. He really should have thought this situation out more thoroughly. He brought his hands to his face, rubbing at the skin and cursing out loud as his hands rubbed across his swollen and bruised left eye.

Oliver stared down at Marcus' arm, at first he saw nothing, but every so slowly faint light lines started to form under the skin. Like lines of wet ink they started to run, forming curves and angles everywhere they went blending and melting together. Oliver started to shake uncontrollably. His rational side was telling him that this… this thing was not going to form into what he thought it was going to…. that this thing was something else all together. But his other side was telling him to run, to get the fuck as far away from him and from it as he could. Quickly he jerked his head away and turned his back on Marcus. His hands covered his face and he shook his head from side to side.

"_No," Oliver repeated, muffled words escaping through clasped fingers. "No, no no no."_

"_Look at me Oliver," he spoke calmly as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on._

"_No," Oliver spoke again. "I didn't see it… I-I didn't see anything. Just lines… and lines mean nothing." He was speaking to himself now more than Marcus. "Nothing, I saw nothing and that means nothing. Nothing changes if I didn't see anything."_

"_Oliver-"_

"_No."_

"_Olly, we both know-"_

"_NO!"_

"_It's the Darkmark."_

It was strange having his secret out in the open, strange, but peaceful. Or maybe it was that he just didn't give a damn anymore. Either way Marcus had come to the conclusion that this was the only possible way it could have gone down. After all, it wasn't something you brought up during a dinner conversation. _How was practice? Good, good. Oh, I took the Darkmark today by the way. _No, it was better this way. Things were said that need to be said, emotions let out, true colors shown. He hadn't expected him to stay… not after showing him. So this…this was something he could deal with.

_Without thought, rationale or self-control Oliver turned and swung, his fist coming into perfect contact with Marcus' eye, sending him straight to the floor. "You bastard!" Marcus may have been taller than him, but Oliver had in shear body mass. Standing over Marcus, fists clenched he was an intimidating figure._

"_Fuck Olly, for the sake of Salazar that fucking hurt!"_

_Oliver leaned down as close as he could get before speaking through clenched teeth. "I… don't… care." One quick glance at Marcus' arm and Oliver stood up and landed a swift kick into the other man's side._

"_So- it's there." Oliver raised his arms up resting his hands on his head, elbows sticking out. "It's really fucking there."_

_Marcus couldn't talk. He curled into a ball on the floor trying to suck air back into his lungs._

"_I don't fucking believe this!" Oliver yelled, turning on his heals and kicking Marcus again._

"_Olly!" Marcus cried out, tears now staining his face._

"_Don't call me that!" Oliver knelt down beside him and grabbed him by the shirt collar, bringing their faces mere inches from each other as he spoke. "Don't you ever fucking call me that ever again." He let go of Marcus, the other boy's head slamming back down on the floor as he did so._

"_You have to-" Marcus tried to wheeze out. "You have to beli- believe me."_

"_Believe a Deatheater?!" Oliver let out a bark of laughter._

"_I- I'm not a- not a-" the words barley a whisper on his lips. "Not a- you have to- have to- I'm not- I'm not."_

_The world was starting to spin making Marcus sick to his stomach. He gingerly place one hand beneath him and pushed only to fall back onto his face. With a strangulated grunt he tried again this time propping himself up on his knees. He glanced over at Oliver who had his back to him. He was still talking, the words "liar" and "asshole" barley audible over the ringing in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted where his wand and landed and he crawled over to it, each movement punctuated by a searing pain in his side. Wand in hand and gasping for breath he grabbed onto the side of a chair using it a leverage to pull himself up._

"_How did I not see this… all of these years… how did I not-" a crash sounded behind him and Oliver quickly spun around to find Marcus standing hunched over, right arm around his waist, wand in his left hand. Slowly he raised the wand and pointed it at him. Oliver froze, his hand slowly snaking behind him to reach his own wand out of his back pocket."_

The sun had almost completely come up causing the shadows on his face to disappear and instead leaving him starting into the bright morning glare. "Damnit," he grumbled as he raised his arm to block the light from his eyes. With a small grunt he shifted his weight around and laid down on the floor, cursing as a piece of glass cut into his back. His entire body ached. His head felt like it was going to crack in two while his back was on fire. He couldn't cry thou, even if we wanted to, all of his tears had been spent the night before.

"_Expelliarmus!" Marcus yelled, sending Oliver flying backwards into the table behind him. "Now you will listen to me."_

_Oliver groaned as he lay on the ground. Marcus stalked up to him, stepping on his wrist so the other man couldn't make a grab for his wand._

"_F-fuck you," Oliver spat out._

"_Listen to yourself Wood," he emphasized the use of the other boy's last name. If Oliver was going to act like he didn't know him anymore then Marcus would extended the same courtesy of when then were on last name only basis. "Do you really believe any of the shit you are saying right now?"_

_Oliver stared up at him in disbelief, confusion plastered across his face. There was the man he loved standing over him with the Darkmark burned into his arm. He quickly shut his eyes and squeezed them tight trying to block out the image._

_Marcus starred at him and watch as his eyes shifted down his is mark before they closed tight. Marcus dropped his wand and bent down next to the man. "This," he spoke quiet and calm. "This was what that letter I got was all about."_

_Oliver opened his eyes. "You said no one showed."_

"_Marcus shook his head. "I know, I was trying to protect you… trying to keep you away from all of this."_

"_I- I don't-" his eyes pleading as he spoke. "Marcus, I just don't understand."_

_Marcus moved down next to Oliver, cursing as another jolt of pain rocketed through his body. "I did meet someone there, someone who said they thought they could help me find my dad," he shifted his gaze up to meet Oliver. "Only…" his voice starting to break, "I wish I hadn't found him."_

Marcus flicked the cigarette around in his hand a few more times before sticking the end in his mouth. A few muttered words and the tip lit. A rustling sound from the couch caught his attention and he turned.

"I thought you didn't smoke anymore."

Marcus pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and looked at it before glancing back at Oliver.

"I don't." He placed the end back in his mouth and took a long drag, smirking as the smoke stung his lungs. It felt good to feel.


	12. Chapter 12: I Will be the Death of You

**Chapter 12- I Will be the Death of You/ Epilogue**

Marcus waits. The cold night fog pools thick at his feet in blanking swirls of white and gray as he lingers deep in the heart of the forbidden forest. He pulls at the edges of the dark cloak closing the hood around his face casting dark shadows that lie on his skin concealing the man within. The cold air whips around whistling a slow eerie lullaby through the trees. The conditions were enough to drive most men away and yet he waits, hoping to finally rid himself of years of emotional and self inflected guilt. Marcus is a person who bears many scars. Most are emotional, on the inside safe from site where only he knows where they hide buried deep behind loyalty and remorse. Those are the ones that torment him, the ones that wake him up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. Sometimes he thinks staying awake would be better, but he never manages past a few days before collapsing in exhaustion. He always curses himself for not being stronger when he wakes and vows to give it another try. Yet there are some, a rare few that mark his skin… blurring the line between past and present. And this is why he waits. The burning pain on his left arm brings his past screaming into the future. It ties him to a history he didn't even know he had.

The wind howled loudly behind him and if he listened hard enough Marcus swore it was whispering his name. He had half a mind to turn around and tell it to kindly fuck off, but the sound of sticks cracking under heavy footstep rang in his ears and he quickly turned on his heels to face the sound. He saw no one, but he knew that didn't mean anything. As best he could figure, he was being watched. It was a game of cat and mouse to see who was more powerful, who would budge first. Marcus smiled inwardly. Let the games begin.

The man was here; Marcus could fell him all around him… he was in his blood after all. Marcus knew what he had to do, it was after his and Oliver's last encounter that obvious decisions had to be reached and choices had to be made. Living on the verge of insanity just wasn't going to cut it anymore.

_"So you know what you are going to do then?" Oliver asked, nervously shifting his weight. "You could get others to help you ya know… it- it doesn't have to be like this. It doesn't have to go this way. Get someone to help you Marc- shit, let me help you. You don't have to do this alone."_

_"Ya I do," Marcus replied, the cigarette never leaving his lips. "I already asked him to meet me tomorrow night. It's amazing how easily you can find a Death Eater once you are one." He eyed Oliver who looked overtly worried. Marcus shifted onto side to better face the man as he spoke. "Besides, it's the only choice really."_

_"Ya," Oliver faintly echoed. "Only choice."_

Marcus walked along the path, wand outstretched and clanking against the tree trunks as he pasted. Another sharp sound of breaking sticks and he paused, a crooked smile crossing his lips.

"If you have something to say," he stopped, directing the rest of his words over his shoulder. "Than just say it." His words were greeted with silence.

It was almost too easy. He had traveled down this path for so long it was only a matter of time before he reached the end of it, what a more fitting place for it to happen than where he had found the man hiding in dark legions. All he had to do was go back there, force his feet to carry him back to a place he had hoped to forget all together. Marcus knew his dad would find him; there were too many unanswered questions between the two of them. Finding Marcus that night knee deep in mud and death burned into his arm was like his prodigal son had come home to his new life of dark freedoms.

More rustling of braches and leafs grabbed his attention before a tall dark figure steeped out of the brush.

Marcus smirked and shook his head. "You always like hiding in the shadows?"

"It's gotten me through life thus far." The man replied.

Marcus' fingers closed tighter around his wand. _Steady now, hold steady._

"You look nervous boy," he laughed as he spoke. "Not planning on using Avada Kedavra on me now are you?" Even though he spoke with a lighthearted tone, he clutched his wand to his chest.

"The thought _had_ crossed my mind."

"Ah, spoken like a true Death Eater."

"I am **not** a Death Eater."

"What's that on your arm boy?" His dad swiftly moved to his side, grabbing his arm. "Look at it, look at all the glory, power and freedom it holds. This mark is who I am and with it burned into your arm you tell me that you are not a Death Eater?" He dropped his son's arm. "You disappoint me son."

_Do it now, just say the words and it will be all over. You can do it. Have faith in yourself. For Merlin's sake, have faith in yourself again._

"No, not until I get some answers." Marcus didn't even realize he was speaking out loud. He forced himself to sound as strong as possible as he look his dad right in his eyes. "Didn't you care about me?"

"For fuck's sake Marcus is that is what all of this this about? Calling me out into the Darkforest in the middle of the night? I was stating to think you were going crazy like your mother." Marcus clenched his jaw and watched as his dad lowered his wand to his side. Of course I did, but this… this was such a much bigger calling." He threw his hands in the air, hands gesturing widely. "This needed me more."

"This needed you more? This…" he rolled his sleeve back up and sticking out his left arm as he did so. "This needed you more? What about what I needed, what about what I wanted?"

"I set this all up for you Marcus, why can't you see that?" His dad ventured closer to him. Putting both hands on Marcus' shoulders he spoke again. "I laid down a legacy for you to follow. I knew you would find your way here son, and once you did we could be together again… father and son, our destinies forever tied together by the Dark Lord himself."

Something inside Marcus snapped. All self-restraint crumbled as he felt years of emotion, guilt, anger, doubt and hate rise to the surface. It all rolled off him in one big outburst of power that sent his dad flying backwards into a tree trunk.

"No," Marcus spoke, his eyes dark with hate.

"M-Marcus," his father spoke with fear in his voice.

"You are his servant, nothing more nothing less. This life you choose will leave you alone with your enemies hunting for you. You picked hate over me, you picked power over me, you picked corruption over me…. you picked death over me. You have nothing here, but I- I loved you," Marcus said as he raised his wand, the final words pushing against his lips. "For what it's worth… I loved you." With a muttered spell and a flash of light it was all over.

**Epilogue:**

_The cold metal rang out into the night air as the Azkaban cell door slammed shut. A small crack of light shown through a break in the brick, a cruel joke of promising hope in a place steeped in fear and death. Marcus watched it, how it fought its way in so strong at first before it dissipated, totally swallowed up by the dark and bitter cold of the room just like everything else that entered here. Fuck he hated it here._

"_Mr. Flint," a stern voice came from behind him and Marcus nodded his answer. "We just need you to identify him and then you can leave." Marcus shook his head again, words failing him. He stepped up closer to the cell grabbing hold of the bars with both hands. He didn't have to look, he knew it was him… after all, he put him there._

"_Ya," Marcus looked over to the guard. "That's Anthony Flint."_

_"Relation?"_

_"What?" Marcus looked at the guard confused._

_"Your relation to..." the guard looked down at the notes he was carrying. "Mr. Anthony Flint."_

_"Umm..."_

_"I need it for the records, just incase he turns out not to be who you say he is."_

_"Oh ya... um... he..."_

_"Your father? I would guess by the same last names?_

_Marcus looked at the man in the corner of the cell. "He used to be." Without another word Marcus turned on his heals and headed towards the hallway, not wanting to wait around for anymore._

"_Boy!" His father's voice echoed out against the stone walls. "Boy! Don't you leave me here!"_

_Marcus kept walking, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his mind of his father's voice._

"_Marcus… please." He stopped dead in his tracks, but forced himself not to look back. "Son… please." The words hurt his ears. "Look at me, look at me and tell me you can do this to me… that you can leave me here. Look into my eyes and tell me you don't know who I am… that you don't love me."_

_Marcus turned his head to the side and tossed his words over his shoulder, never looking directly at the man he used to call dad. "I see nothing in your eyes."_

_The room fell silent. Tears stung the corners of Marcus' eyes as reached for the door handle. Giving it a hard tug he walked away, closing the heavy wood door behind him. It was mid-day and the sun was shining bright in the sky. Glancing back over his shoulder for one last look before he left, Marcus walked out of the shadow of Azkaban prison and into the light._

-fin-


End file.
